The age lines in the valet's face deepened with his frown. “Then why would you risk incurring her ladyship's wrath? Particularly now so shortly after your nuptials? You have not been in the petticoat line since returning from Italy.”
Cornby was well aware that Damon had spent all his nights since at home, alone, in strict celibacy. He also knew that Lydia had been the catalyst in Elea nor's explosion two years ago, and he was evidently worried that a similar furor would result if Damon chose to visit his former mistress now.
But explaining the delicate state of his marriage to his valet was not something he wished to be drawn into just now. “You are being irritatingly close to avuncular, Cornby.”
“Perhaps, my lord, but I see it as my duty to champion Lady Wrexham's interests. Also, I confess, I do not wish anything to bring her pain or sorrow.”
“Nor do I. But better that I meet Miss Newling elsewhere than have her show up here uninvited.”
“I do see your point, my lord.”
In truth, Damon was pleased that his longtime manservant felt protective of Eleanor. But he meant to meet Lydia as she'd requested to forestall any visit here. Moreover, he couldn't just glibly dismiss her request for help. After their long relationship, he probably owed it to Lydia to at least determine why she needed him, in her words, so “desperately.”
“Tell Lady Wrexham I will be delayed in joining the company for a while since I must see to a business matter.”
“Very well, even though it is unlikely to be a business matter,” the valet returned pointedly.
“It will be,” Damon assured him. “I mean to keep my visit strictly business.”
Seeming slightly comforted, Cornby remained silent as Damon let himself out and headed back out to the stables.
He had just reached the stableyard when he encountered the Earl of Haviland.
“Well met, Wrexham,” Haviland said at once. “You saved me the trouble of searching for you. We need a moment of your time.”
Damon noted both the seriousness of the earl's expression and that he was accompanied by Horace Linch, one of the Bow Street Runners hired to see to Prince Lazzara's welfare.
“Yes, of course,” Damon replied.
“There has been an interesting development in the case,” Haviland said quietly as he led the way along one stable block. “Mr. Linch believes he has identified a possible suspect in the accidents that befell the prince. I shall let him explain.”
When they halted at the far end of the stables, Damon regarded the Runner with a quizzical look.
Linch kept his voice low as he spoke. “Milord, you asked me to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters. I think per'aps I found one. See that Italian cove over there?” Surreptitiously, Linch p
ointed around the corner of the building to where an ebony-haired, wiry-looking fellow with an olive complexion was grooming a pair of carriage horses.
Damon's gaze narrowed as a spark of recognition struck him. He was almost certain he'd seen the man before-on a crowded street outside the Pantheon Bazaar. After staring another moment, Damon drew back, out of sight, so he wouldn't be recognized in turn.
“That chap is Paolo Giacomo,” the Runner murmured. “This morning I caught him skulking about the grounds, there is no other word for it. But when I confronted him, he demanded to speak to Signor Vecchi-claimed to be in his employ. The signor was not happy to see him, that much was clear. I couldn't get close enough to overhear since I'd been dismissed, but they looked to be arguing. So naturally I thought it odd when Signor Vecchi arranged for Giacomo to be lodged in the grooms’ quarters here above the stables.”
Giacomo could very well be the pickpocket who'd assaulted Lazzara and pushed him into the street before fleeing from sight, Damon decided.
When he said as much to his colleagues, Haviland eyed him sharply. “It's doubtful Giacomo acted on his own.”
Damon nodded slowly. “Vecchi is likely behind the attacks. Even before this I wondered if he might be the culprit. He was nearest the prince when his highness took a tumble down the stairs of the Opera. And he was present the night the prince's punch was drugged. Vecchi could easily have relied on his minions to execute the other incidents such as sabotaging Lazzara's carriage wheel.”
“You will need to find proof of his guilt,” Haviland said. “It wouldn't be politic to accuse a high-ranking diplomat of nefarious deeds without evidence, let alone of attempting to murder his cousin.”
Damon couldn't dispute the observation. At the moment it was sheer speculation to suspect Vecchi of masterminding the mishaps. Yet all of Damon's instincts told him he wasn't mistaken.
“Any suggestions on how to find proof?” he asked Haviland.
“An obvious one. We should begin by searching the signor's rooms.”
Linch spoke up then. “Begging your pardons, milords, but I wouldn't care to attempt such a search. If I was caught out, it could go very ill for me. I could be taken for a thief and sent to prison or worse.”
“I will be happy to do it,” Haviland volunteered.